


Draped in Silk

by FurthestAshes



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler, Original Work
Genre: 1930s, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, American Politics, Angst, Canon - Manga, Demons, Emotional Manipulation, Gangs, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Pre-War, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slow Burn, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FurthestAshes/pseuds/FurthestAshes
Summary: Saved by a demon during a near death experience, a mysterious boy learns he's more than human, and more valuable than gold to greed.Huge divergence from canon.
Relationships: Sebastian Michaelis/Original Male Character(s), Sebastian Michaelis/Reader
Kudos: 5





	Draped in Silk

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a dream I had.  
> Update: I got a little jumpy about posting this, so I didn't proofread. It's much better now!

The cold wind bites my face and fingers as I race my bike through a small path, towering trees whipping past as dead leaves scuttle across the ground in my stead. The sky is overcast, grey like a blanket. The air is bitter in my throat and lungs. My eyes sting, my breath is ragged, and staying steady on the rugged path is harrowing, with a shallow cliff to my left and endless trees to my right. I look behind me in a fervor to find my pursuer, only to hit a rogue root, sending my body catapulting forwards over the handlebars. I tumble down the side of the trail, down the cliff, rocks and roots stabbing my body in every which way. When I hit the ground, the dirt is unforgiving and cold, and I can feel heat and pain beginning to pool in my lower back and head. 

The bike lays crooked above in the leaves, and I lie arms spread towards the sky, my vision blurry. I heave a few shaky breaths, before attempting to sit up, but a sharp pain in my back prevents me from moving. I look down and see a small puddle of blood surrounding my back. I can't feel my legs. My arm is twisted a funny way. I can barely feel anything but the chill of the wind. The world spins. I lay back, the ground cradling me like a coffin. 

A flutter of feathers, and my eyes blink open. A raven is perched next to me. Its huge, jet black, eyes gleaming red. I start, silent and weary. The raven tilts its head. 

"Help me, please,” I whisper.

It hops closer, the sheen of its feathers nearly purple. 

"Please. please help me."

The raven chuckles in a broken laugh, but its eyes don't exhibit the same amusement. It hops onto my broken arm, squeezing its talons, and I grit my teeth, hot breath coming out in puffs into the frigid air. 

"I'm dying."

The raven chuckles again.

Black feathers begin floating by, until I’m surrounded by them, engulfing me. The raven laughs, feathers descending on my vision, until all I see is nothing.

***

I awake like an animated corpse, sucking in air. I crane my head up and find myself in a beautiful room. Sunlight is filtering through the open window, thin white curtains blowing gently in the breeze. The room has a woody scent, and in this four-poster bed, a soft grey duvet is covering my body. The walls are a soft blue, huge ceilings, and rosewood furniture. The door creaks open, and my breath catches as I tense. A tall man, jet black hair, nearly crimson eyes, smiles gently as he pushes in a cart. He is dressed in a long brown coat and a clean white shirt, black pants, and peculiarly, white gloves.

"Where am I? Who are you?” my throat rasps.

I try to sit up, but he wheels the cart next to the bed, and slowly pushes me back down by my shoulder. His gloves are cool and soft. His eyes swirl with something I can't place, yet I’m filled with calm, for a moment. He seems friendly enough, so I stare at the cart instead. There's some cruel looking liquid in a brown bottle, poached eggs with toast, and a cup of water. My stomach growls. His laugh is low and rumbly.

"Hungry? take this first." he says, as he pours the thick liquid onto a spoon, cupping the back of my head as he pushes it towards my lips. I flinch and flatten my lips against my teeth. My head is pounding.

“It’ll help.” I don’t have the strength to ask what it is. He taps my chin, slips in the spoon, and just like that, it's over.

I nearly gag. It slides down my throat like tar. I cough, and my entire body aches in protest. I try to peel back my sheets to see why, but my arm is wrapped tightly in thick cloth and padding, and the man stops me before I move them. 

"Am I in a hospital?" I choke out.

"Not quite. this is your home." He fiddles with the cart and tray, getting silverware prepared. 

"My home?" 

"Yes. this entire estate is yours, as you wanted it to be."

"Estate? sir, I’m a bit confused-"

“Eat. then we'll talk, alright?"

He lightly stuffs a pillow behind my head and eases my body up into a better position. My bones scream. I gasp, but he places his hand on my shoulder, and the pain dissipates. I sigh, and he places the tray on my chest. The crystal glass and the white and green china seem out of place for a hospital. 

"Call if you need anything. No need to yell, I’ll leave the door open." he smiles again, somewhat curt, and strides out, disappearing down the hallway. 

I attempt to eat cordially, but I end up scarfing down the eggs and toast in what feels like seconds. I reach for the ice water, and somehow don't spill it down my chest as I gulp it down. Whatever the man had told me is already gone from my mind. 

I put the tray on the cart with a clatter, and flick back the sheets with my good arm, to find my body nearly entirely covered in tight medical tape, gauze, and bruises. I curse to myself and try to sit up, the pain in my back making me gasp. I steady myself on the edge of the bed, and as the blood pumping in my ears quiets down, I can hear the light sound of a record playing, coming from the hallway. The memories of when I was last awake came flooding back; that dark alley, aiming a gun, the sickening sound of a body hitting the ground, speeding into the forest on my bike, the crash...then nothing. My head throbs, and I realize it too is bandaged. 

I try to listen more for other patients, perhaps other people bustling by. This seems like the place for hospice, or respite. The record playing and the drifting curtains is all I hear. I must leave this place. I need to go back to that alley, but I don't know why. My head throbs when I try to picture the scene.

My legs wobble when I try to stand, and I collapse immediately, taking the cart with me, shattering glass, and the egg stained plate. I lay defeated on my side, heaving, letting the cool floor seep into my skin.

That man appears, as if he was standing outside of the door the entire time, and rushes to help me off the floor.

"I'm fine, really, I need to leave-" he bends down to assess the damage, and when he pulls away from my back, his glove is stained red. My eyes widen as he scoops me up and takes me outside the door, stepping over the broken glass and china. The hallways are a huge expanse of polished wood and red walls, but my vision blurs as I try to take it in. 

I breathe heavily and lean my head in his shoulder, unable to fight. This could be some captor; I am probably held here against my will. But the way he's holding me, and the way his brow is furrowed in worry...makes me think differently. Maybe he's a doctor, or at least a nurse? An aide of some kind? I don't have a second to think before he rushes me into another room, fitted with medical equipment, counters, machines, and a surgical table. The heavy scent of iodine floods my nose, and he places me on the table as gently as he can. His jacket is covered in blood, and he shuffles it off and discards it on the counter. I’m getting dizzy. He pulls liquid into a syringe, but before he can step closer, I pass out on the table.


End file.
